


green.

by LachrymoseLake



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Heda Lexa (The 100), Hurt/Comfort, Mount Weather, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Soft Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Soulmates, Wolves, a little bit of a re-write, and what is plot? we don't know her, author really has no idea what this is, like is very confused
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:01:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27489265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LachrymoseLake/pseuds/LachrymoseLake
Summary: *author is confused*Kidnapped, exhausted and knelt before a pair of cold green eyes, Clarke didn't know what was going to happen. But what she did know is, reflected in the silver sheen of a raised sword, her blue eyes wouldn't look away.*A redo of what little is in the 'Green Eyes.' collection but more*
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 4
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It has been ages. Seriously. Ages. What's even happened to 2020? Both the longest and quickest year TO DATE.
> 
> Anyway, I was looking through some things and found like 10,000 words for this story?? and it isn't posted (or posted in a rlly weird collection-style)?? Like idk, that's just a bit mad. So I'm just going to go through, edit things a bit and then post them bc what even is life, might as well do something in covid.
> 
> Hope you guys are all staying well, would love to hear/talk to you in the comments and am always available if anyone needs an ear <3

It was almost shocking how easy it was. After days of working to unify, fortify and satisfy the delinquents, Clarke thought it would be harder to walk away from the Dropship. It wasn’t. No one called after her, no one stopped or even glanced up at her. 

She couldn’t blame them. Not really. 

If she wasn’t the one making the slow trek through the camp, if she was one of the ones watching instead, she wouldn’t try to stop her. Actions have consequences, after all, and her actions… she would bear the consequences.

That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Just a bit, when she let herself linger on the possibility that in her efforts to keep people alive, she also kept them at arm’s length. Maybe, for all the rivers and butterflies and deer, the emerald green and earthy browns and deep blues, maybe space wasn’t the lonely place. Space wasn’t as cold. 

But no, that didn’t matter anymore. 

Space was dead. The living are here.

The living that shot Grounders and ate unidentified berries and shot their friends- Alicia Hummer was still in the dropship, feverish from the stray bullet that pierced her shoulder- honestly, maybe death really was all they deserved. They seemed so eager to get themselves killed, trying to stop them seemed almost pointless.

Almost.

The undergrowth clung to her trousers, twiggy fingers twisting in the material as she tried to slip into the forest. The sounds of their camp faded fast behind her; the clang of something hitting the Dropship, reserved bickering about the best way to start a fire that wouldn’t just smoke the meagre meal one of the boy’s had managed to stumble into, and the rough tones of snapped orders from Bellamy. 

_Bellamy._

Frustration, something that she had barely managed to calm, roared to life. Of all the smug, self-righteous, immature and thoughtless idiots that could have come to the ground, he was the worst. Well, Murphy was pretty horrific in his own way, but people didn’t follow Murphy. Bellemy was just charming enough to lead people. To get everyone killed. And how could he? How _could_ he? As if she hadn’t shed blood, sweat and tears for this group. As if she hadn’t fought for them, operated on them and cared for them despite their stupidity and refusal to follow any sense of order. 

She had. 

She had done all of that and Bellemy had the nerve to suggest- Bellamy who was to the epicentre of all the stupidity that infected the delinquents- Bellemy had the gall to suggest that Clarke was doing this to inflate her own _ego,_ simply to hold onto some ridiculous semblance of power that he himself obviously craved. 

Twiggy fingers turned to hands, grabbing harshly at her ankles and toppling her. The novel joy of the first rains on earth had quickly worn off, and now, with mud sinking between her fingers and coating her knees, that joy firmly vanished.

Acrid bile bit at her throat, shards of shattered frustrations that burst the bubble of carefully contained despair- it tried to claw its way out. But she refused. Struggling to her feet, she wiped hands on her filthy shirt, breaths coming faster. Mustering fury, she fought back the tears, the sobs that needed release. Because she could be mad. She was good at anger. Had let it brew every day that she was in solitary, every day since she had seen her father floated. Anger was familiar and its warmth burned in her veins with all the comfort of a drug. It easily pushed despair back, leaving tears clinging to eyelashes and her face flushed. Her chest fluttered with fast breaths, too shallow, but every one let the cool autumn air of the day pool in her chest and flame the cold anger that would leave her eyes steely, hands sure and heart resolved. 

A bird song echoed above, shrill and then silent. 

Clarke breathed. She brushed roughly at her eyes, tears smearing into mud on her cheeks. No one was allowed to see this. No one could claim her weak, unfit to lead them. Because, even now, it was her job, self-appointed or not, to make sure no one else _died_. To do that she needed people to listen. To trust her. She needed to offer something that Bellemy and all his charming swagger couldn’t.

A twig snapped. Anger flared and she stood rooted, fists clenched. Of course, he would come after her, as if being reasonable privately offered any redemption for the way he acted around the others. As if she could be so easily convinced, so easily _manipulated_ into simpering over him. She wanted to turn and face him. Almost did, but Clarke couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t punch him. Kick him. _Scream_. It wasn’t worth the risk. He wasn’t worth it. But God did she want to.

“I swear to God Bellamy if you don’t turn around I am not responsible fo-.” In retrospect, it was foolish, so dumb, not to turn. Not to run. To assume _anything_ on the ground was as it seemed. To assume she was _safe_. It happened faster than she could think. She was tugged off-balance, a hand clamped over her mouth, and then a stinging pain flared at the back of her head for a brief second before-

Clarke woke slowly, painfully. Her head felt thick, swaying limply as she rocked rhythmically. Something solid pressed uncomfortably into her stomach, hands knotted and shoved into her diaphragm, making each breath catch and squeeze uncomfortably against her ribs. A blur of brown and green met her when she tried to open her eyes. She twitched, testing the cords around her wrists, shifting her weight and trying to breathe. The ground moved below her, and when the solid thing under her heaved she could see booted feet and smell the strange scent of animal skin. She was being carried, the solid mass under her was a muscled shoulder. Far too muscled to be someone from the delinquents. Grounders.

In hindsight she would bashfully admit that her attempts at struggling were slightly beyond pitiful, verging on embarrassing. At the time, however, the rush of adrenaline and fear cast aside any sense of shame and filled her body with the urge to flee. She jerked her shoulders, hitting something solid as she tried to wriggle off the Grounders back. If she could just get her feet under her, if she could just start running then she had a chance. If she just- 

Hands gripped her, heaving her into the air and then dropping her on the floor in an uncomfortable pile of muddy limbs and limp muscle. Her head swam and she squeezed her eyes shut, praying she wouldn’t have to throw up in front of her captors. Her prayers were answered, but before she could thank the gods for small mercies she was heaved to her feet. 

The Grounders looked exactly as she remembered, fearsome clothes hanging of muscled bodies that were bronzed by dirt and sun. Their faces were impassive, emotionless as one of them, a man, effortlessly looped rope around her bound hands. He tugged, and Clarke was sent stumbling on numb legs. 

“Jos a goufa” His gruff words were foreign, the swimming of her head rejecting them. Before she could work her jaw open to snap back, fingers gripped her chin and forced her face up until she was stretched, hung by the Grounder’s grip. Stern eyes, near black where they sat above a cloth mask, seemed to catalogue her, pick her apart. Their voice, more feminine but by no means softer, joined the snapped conversation. 

“Em's barely mo than a goufa” Those fingers dropped her with a twisted grimace, as if she was forced to touch something decidedly disgusting. She caught herself on her joined wrists, forehead resting against the coarse cord as she panted sharp breaths against the welling of hopelessness that had begun to stir in her chest. She wasn’t going to get away. Not this time. Maybe never again.

“Tel bilaik kom ai jaw,” Clarke didn’t look up at the new voice, but she heard the wet sucking and spit above her, then saw a glob of blood hit the ground next to her.

“Pleni. Em burnt sanctu,” A new voice, yet again, and Clarke couldn’t help wonder _why_ there were four Grounders holding her. _Why_ it wasn’t just one, or _why_ they wanted her at all. “do yu want kom tel the survivors em's just a gada? em's gon no matter, Heda's judgement ste true.”

  
 _Heda._ As the long painful journey began, the reverence held in that one word burned in her, consumed her until all that was left was the bloody ache of her feet, the pull of the rope and _Heda._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been agessssssss, my goal was to update weekly but oh gosh university is A Lot. Nevermind!   
> How are people doing?   
> I know the holidays are coming up and that they're looking to be a lot harder than usual for a lot of people. If you ever need to just rant it out or say hello to a friendly human bean, my comment section is always open and I'd love to hear from you.   
> G'night guys!

The black ink gathered, grew heavy, and then fell from the tip of Lexa’s quill, staining the pristine map. It seeped into the porous material, devouring the land displayed ravenously, spreading far beyond what Lexa had intended. Dropping the new quill into a little jar of exotic ink that had been wrestled from the jaws of fierce water monsters in the great western sea, Lexa gently began dabbing the fresh stain with a rag. She bit her lip, careful not to press the dye deeper into the map, but trying to suck up the thick blackness of her error.

Her concentration strayed from her task, wandering over her territories. The marks of skillfully drawn trees and rivers, the swell of a lake and the solid lines of villages and towns strewn across her sprawling land. Sharp eyes, always thinking and planning, sharp eyes turned hard, jaw clenching as she placed a finger on the odd little shape etched into the paper: Skaikru. Their craft of metal and wire, so like to the Mountain Men that it left her men uneasy, itching to dispatch the all too real threat. But no, no there would not be any slaughter, not unprovoked, not  _ unneeded _ . 

Dropping the used rag to her table, Lexa pushed away from her maps and scrolls. She cracked her neck, rolled a shoulder and quietly poured herself a cup of sweet wine.

The rider was here by now with the daily report. She didn’t expect it to differ from the previous missives: No movement, nothing more than some pitiful attempts at hunting and water runs. It was as if, almost, the young Skykru were unaware of the watching eyes on them from the shadows, from the trees. But of course, Lexa had ordered her men to make themselves known, obvious- not to slink and hide like guilty creatures wary of the light. They  _ must  _ know they were under watch, under guard. The spear pinned to one of the trees just outside the founding camp must have made sure of that. It must have.

With a sigh, Lexa moved to slice a thin slab of pear from her plate, pausing when a wanting growl echoed against her temples. There was an all too familiar ache in her throat. She picked up the slice of slow-roasted venison, teeth tearing through flesh and letting the savoury taste soothe the hunger of her wolf.

_ Settle.  _ The anxious energy writhing in her chest gave one final snarl before calming, not gone, but lying dormant and ready. 

Among the general din of the village, the clacks and grunts and growls of the training field, the ting ting ting of the metalworker and weavers murmuring together. Even children laughing, though that was rare and far between, filtered in through her tent flaps. That, and the urgent footsteps of someone running. It was almost indistinguishable from the general sound of Trikru life, but the sense of urgency, of  _ need,  _ set it apart. By the time the scrawny man breathlessly pleaded admittance from the guard, Lexa was composed, stony,  _ Heda.  _

His face, reddened by his run, immediately turned away. His muscles went slack, body drooping in respect, in  _ submission.  _ His words were spoken to the corner, where tent met earth, grey eyes not daring to rise.

“Coming kom skaikru’s camp. Heda, emo tried kom breach the blockade, emo were caught en ai laik kom say emo laik coming.” Quietly, with only a flick of her wrist, the lithe youth was dismissed.

_ Skaikru. _

Lexa looked over her map, at the delicate ink strokes that made the alien craft, captured its likeness on paper as an unknown, a threat: as something to move against, to deal with... to eradicate if the children of that craft did not fall into line as they should.

Reaching for the sheathed sword that rested against the table, Lexa snapped it into place at her side, swinging from her well-made belt. She tightened her shoulder guard, even if the Coalition wasn’t at all-out war with the Skikru, they still posed a threat, and so becoming a steel walker was ordinary, even in the safety of the village.

The worries for the future, the doubts about the present and the grief of the past: it was all left behind Lexa as she strode through the tent flap. As she stepped into the noon sunlight, she was Heda: cold, brutal, stoic- the very best of her people. She had no prejudice, no biases, only the desire for her people to thrive. She was the epitome of survival. 

Her people were restless, Heda noticed immediately. They grouped together in threes and fours, eyes flicking between each other and the village gate. If Heda were made to speak on the matter, not that anyone would  _ dare  _ force her, she would say her people were  _ angry.  _ They must have heard who had been captured. 

It seemed, even though the runner that announced the impending arrival of the captive was respectful, they hadn’t learnt yet to hold their tongue. She would have that seen to.

Green eyes followed the glances of her people to the gate where guards stood watch as a small group made their way towards Heda. Four of her warriors walked close together, their postures stiff and coiled, hands glued to the hilts of their weapons and those without hands at the moment had teeth bared and paw-steps soundless. Once they entered the relative safety of the village, the five guards scattered, melting away into the groups of Trikru that loitered at the edge of the path. What was left was a solitary man leading a bound girl by a rope that wrapped tightly around her wrists. 

Ryder walked with his head held high, stride confident and uncaring of the pace that left his prisoner stumbling over herself. Heda’s trusted guard led his prize through the village, the eyes of everyone, old and young, fighters and weavers, on him. 

On them. 

Heda moved until the shadow of her tent licked her heels, and she knew the sun pronounced her figure, casting an imposing figure. She felt Hyde and Misch match her step for step, ready to slit the throat of any who approached. She stood tall, straight-backed and still as she watched. Watched everything; from her people, to the skies; to what was visible of the forests outside the walls, to Gustus and the ski girl. The ski girl. Now that Gustus was closer, she could make out more of the captive.

They had dirty blonde hair, leaves threaded through tresses and twigs lodged in her shirt. Mud was smeared on fabric, across pale skin and it looked to have dried and cracked against her flesh. She looked like a cub who had spent the day playing by the river, hunting fireflies and stalking rabbits; ruffled, disgruntled and thoroughly exhausted. She had most likely tried to outrun Heda’s lookouts and had suffered the consequences. 

There was a murmur, of voices and cloth as people shuffled. An air of unrest stirred, of anger and action. Heda’s people didn’t press in, didn’t try to beat or brutalise the representation of the threat, the alien that landed in their land. That had shattered the five years of peace and tranquillity and made the people take up arms. They wouldn’t dare, not with Heda’s watchful eye on them. Yet Heda could see that they wanted to.

Someone drew up beside her, their sharp ear nearly touching Heda’s elbow. Indra didn’t need to announce her presence, the chief more than recognisable simply by smell: her scent an earthy one of pine and burnt ash. She, like the rest of the village, stood tense, controlled. But unlike Heda, her control wasn’t one of indefinite patience, more a tension running out of time. Almost bursting free. In short, Indra felt dangerous. Bordering on feral. But then, she always did; it came with the territory of her job; it was what made her indispensable. 

Ryder came to a stop, putting a stop to Heda’s contemplation. A firm snap of the rope had the ski girl sprawling to the ground. Heda noted, grudgingly, the girl's quietness. Despite the girl’s muddy place on the ground, there was an air of dignity that Heda did not expect from the ski children.

Interesting. Smart enough not to push Ryders’ relative good-will, yet self-possessed enough not to make a sound. Not to show weakness.

“Heda. Em was alone in the woods, far beyond your blockade. Em didn't turn back gon our warning. Der was no resistance. Em does nou seem as taim any gon the children followed her attempts kom flee. 

Indra’s shift was effortless, her words uttered darkly at Lexa’s side: “Frag em op, Heda. Em breached the blockade, and the other skai children will know em's missing en osir can send her back as a warning.“ 

Indra made a point, but of course, it wasn’t that simple. It used to be, oh it used to be. Before the Kongeda, all it would take was a quick slit of a throat, a body delivered in the night and then… then war. But then is not now and now… but Heda’s word is law, and this goufa had ignored her word. The Skykru were a threat, and her people, the clans, they all knew it just as she did.

“Shof op, Indra. Her jus will nou be the jus kom risk the kongeda.” 

“Sha, heda. But-”

“Shof op.” Heda raised her fist, cutting the irrate general off, “Send a runner, tel the gonakru kom ste vigilant en be prepared kom accost any chon cross the blockade.“ Lexa let the quiet settle as a runner summoned her fur and disappeared into the trees. Logically she should kill the one who broke her blockade, and she knew it. Her men did, too. They shuffled, Gustus rested a hand on the pommel of his sword and Indra seemed to almost buzz with energy. 

Lexa grips the hilt of her blade, inching it open as she takes a step closer. Without being asked, Ryder tugs the rope, prompting the prisoner to lift her head.

The glare is icy blue, piercing in a way Lexa had never seen. First, it was directed defiantly at Ryder’s back, and then, when Lexa took a step forward, blade leaving its sheath with a soft hiss, they bore into Lexa’s. Green met blue, and everything just... changed.

Something awoke in Lexa, swirling, tugging, demanding that she take a step closer. Eliminate the distance. Gather the girl dirtied by earth and never let her go. Breathe in her scent. Touch her skin-

Heda stepped forward, the girl didn’t flinch, didn’t cower. Simply glowered. 

The people of the village grew still, grew silent, waiting for Heda’s judgement. 

Heda raised her sword, face stern. She knew she must strike an imposing figure, stood with blade glinting in the high strung sun, skin bronzed and scarred.

The captive didn’t flinch. Only clenching her jaw, squaring her shoulders: ready for her end.

So brave.

Heda stared into those eyes, her insides writhing, revolting at the idea of ending the one she’s been looking for since she first drew breath. Her fingers clenched around the hilt, fluttering in indecision. The silence was growing oppressive, defending. All eyes were on Heda, all eyes waiting for the final word, the final action that would start a war with the Skaikru for their crimes. 

As Heda, it was her responsibility to be the stern hand of justice, to do what was right for her people, to spill blood, so her’s didn’t need to. But as… as a  _ mate  _ it was her duty to protect her own, her one. It was against everything the beast in her chest wanted her to do- the wolf, with its desperate calls ringing in her head, its anger burning in her veins. 

  
She had to choose, her duty to the Flame, to her people; her duty to her mate, her destined. Her blade would find flesh, trigger a war, wipe out the lingering threat, bring peace - or it would not. Or those defiant blue eyes would live on, and Lexa would touch soft skin, cradle it close.

The blade swung, slicing through the air with a silent whistle.

Blue eyes snapped closed; breath caught behind teeth.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation for most of it:  
> (Heda. She was alone in the woods, far beyond your blockade. She didn't turn back at our warning, there was no resistance. It does not seem as if any of the children followed her attempts to flee.)  
> (Kill her, commander. She breached the blockade, the other sky children will know she's missing and we can send her back as a warning.)   
> (Quiet, Indra. Her blood should not be the blood to risk the Kongeda.)  
> (Yes, Heda. But-)  
> (Quiet. Send a runner, tell the warriors to stay vigilant and be prepared to accost any who cross the blockade.)


End file.
